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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23153812">Summertime made promises it knew it couldn’t keep</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetmornings/pseuds/velvetmornings'>velvetmornings</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst with a Happy Ending, Gay Richie Tozier, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Post-IT (2017), sometime between the late 90's and early 00's</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:20:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,156</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23153812</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetmornings/pseuds/velvetmornings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The losers don’t leave and spend their teenage years in Derry—hormonal horror stories and all, but ones that don't involve a killer dancing clown.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>There’s terse silence as they just stare at each other under the street lights before Eddie speaks at long last, “You know we can’t tell anyone, right?”</p>
  <p>“Tell anyone what?” Richie says, tipping forward on the balls of his feet playfully and winking.</p>
  <p>Eddie turns away, but Richie can still tell he’s rolling his eyes. It doesn’t have it’s usual you’re-so-annoying-I-love-you quality to it which hurts more than Richie would like to admit.</p>
</blockquote>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Summertime made promises it knew it couldn’t keep</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The fic title is a lyric from Calm Like You by The Last Shadow Puppets.<br/>I’m quoting a meme here but *slaps roof of fic* this baby can fit so much self-projection.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p3">
  <b>I. Condenses and dissipates.</b>
</p>
<p class="p3">In Florida, and other places Richie’s sure—but not any other place he cares about—there are things called sun-showers that are particular to the time between summer and fall, not quite hot enough to count or rainy enough to care.</p>
<p class="p3">It’s sunny, it’s hot, you can see the blue of the sky above you and it’s <em>raining</em>. The first time he experienced this he was down there visiting his grandparents and he had been struck by the juxtaposition of it. Schrodinger’s rainstorm. A pocket between worlds and universes and perhaps one where it wasn’t all in his head—but it was wishful thinking, he knew.</p>
<p class="p3">His pink Motorola flip phone had just very recently stopped buzzing with text messages. Hand me down of his mother’s, and bright magenta much to his chagrin. The familiar click of it shut and open was becoming a habit to check for texts he wasn’t receiving. But this one had come in full blast, the vibration causing the phone to spin on his bedside table.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p class="p4"><b>Eddie:</b> I need to see u. (Received at 11:55 pm)</p>
</blockquote><p class="p3">Richie sits up on his bed in a bolt, he had already begun to drift into the halfway point between consciousness and sleep. Not <em>quite</em> there yet, like so many other things. Richie reaches for his glasses blindly so he can conjure up his reply.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p class="p4"><b>Richie: </b>Now? (Sent at 11:56 pm)</p>
  <p class="p4"><b>Eddie: </b>Yes now. I’m outside (Received at 11:56 pm)</p>
</blockquote><p class="p3">Richie throws on a hoodie and pants in the darkness, scared that if he turned on the light he might wake his parents. Which was ridiculous because it’s likely they were still awake watching Law &amp; Order: Special Victims Unit or something. He just didn’t want to take his chances with his mom catching him sneaking out and having to explain he was meeting Eddie at this hour—on a school night no less.</p>
<p class="p3">Richie can see Eds’ silhouette waiting for him on the pavement before Eddie sees him: hands in his jacket pockets—his leg bouncing either in anticipation or from the cold Richie didn’t know.</p>
<p class="p3">He’s contemplating spinning on his heel and going back inside when Eddie’s head raises and his eyes meet his. Even from this distance Richie can tell his bottom lip was red and raw from chewing on it.</p>
<p class="p3">Eddie lets out a puff of air that condenses and dissipates in front of his face.</p>
<p class="p3">Richie goes down the rest of the steps that lead down the front door and meets Eddie on the pavement, careful not to stand too close.</p>
<p class="p3">“Hey,” Richie says finally, with an awkward wave.</p>
<p class="p3">There’s terse silence as they just stare at each other under the street lights before Eddie speaks at long last, “You know we can’t tell anyone, right?”</p>
<p class="p3">“Tell anyone <em>what</em>?” Richie says, tipping forward on the balls of his feet playfully and winking.</p>
<p class="p3">Eddie turns away, but Richie can still tell he’s rolling his eyes. It doesn’t have it’s usual you’re-so-annoying-I-love-you quality to it which hurts more than Richie would like to admit.</p>
<p class="p3">“Just <em>don’t</em> okay…please,” Eddie says, facing him again.</p>
<p class="p3">“You got it, chief,” Richie says. There’s a Voice in there somewhere but it’s half-hearted. He hopes he doesn’t sound as broken as he feels.</p>
<p class="p3">
  <b>II. Malt shakes and diners and mistakes galore.</b>
</p>
<p class="p3">Johnny <em>fucking</em> Rockets.</p>
<p class="p3">That was the usual hangout place, but they don’t go there as much anymore.</p>
<p class="p3">The restaurant was packed with people and families but it might as well’ve been a ghost town by the ache that bloomed in his chest when Richie walked in. The sticky tables and linoleum floors and squeaky red booths spurred way too much nostalgia at once—except that was ridiculous, it wasn’t nostalgia because that was only last summer. Can one really have nostalgia for things so close?</p>
<p class="p3">Richie had gone in to get the two of them shakes, but the panic caused him to run straight back out.</p>
<p class="p3">“Where are they?” Bev says, stubbing out her cigarette.</p>
<p class="p3">“Fuck—right, yeah. I’ll be right back,” Richie says, shaking his head to clear it and catching the door before it closes. </p>
<p class="p3">“That’s what you said—” Bev yells, but Richie doesn’t hear the other end of that sentence because the glass doors shut against her again.</p>
<p class="p3">“Two strawberry milkshakes please,” he tells the cashier holding two fingers up for emphasis.</p>
<p class="p3">“Two?” The cashier says. He was short and had nice eyes and his name tag read <em>Chip</em>. “There’s usually more of you.”</p>
<p class="p3">“Not today, good sir,” Richie says, in a Welsh accent that wasn’t quite Welsh. “Not today.”</p>
<p class="p3">Bev and Richie finish their shakes crossed-legged on the pavement in the parking lot outside. The farthest thing from sanitary but neither of them cared.</p>
<p class="p3">Bev and him had already conjured up a sort of routine for this sort of thing, each of them would have personal problems—be it school or parents (or boys) and they wouldn’t speak of it and neither would ask. It was just how they worked, and it was something Richie always liked about Bev. She was a cool guy.</p>
<p class="p3">It didn’t mean she couldn’t read between the lines, however. She picked up on Richie’s involuntary cues better than any of his guy friends, he can credit her with that much. He didn’t know if it was so-called <em>feminine intuition</em> or if Beverly was just like that, but sometimes it came in handy and sometimes it didn’t. In this particular moment, it didn’t.</p>
<p class="p3">Richie was terrible at keeping secrets and he was terrified of keeping this one from Beverly in particular. When she texted him to get shakes at Johnny’s, he was irrationally petrified that he’ll show up and she’ll read it all over his face.</p>
<p class="p3"><em>You okay?</em> Bev had asked almost immediately.</p>
<p class="p3"><em>Jolly good</em>, Richie had replied just a little too fast. Her eyebrows had gone down just a millimeter but she said nothing of it.</p>
<p class="p3">“I gotta get going,” Beverly says now, rising from her sitting position with a groan.</p>
<p class="p3">“Don’t wanna worry the ol’ man,” Richie says from below her, his hand stretching out behind him for support.</p>
<p class="p3">“‘Course,” Beverly replies without feeling, brushing off the gathered gravel from her jean shorts.</p>
<p class="p3">“See ya later, alligator,” Richie says with a salute.</p>
<p class="p3">“In a while, crocodile.”</p>
<p class="p3">“Real soon, Daniel Boone,” Richie says, grinning now. Beverly’s hand raises over her shoulder, a single finger upheld in insult. You can guess which one.</p>
<p class="p3">“Get fucked, Daffy Duck.”</p>
<p class="p3">
  <b>III. Chlorine and cobwebs, halloween with its horror stories. </b>
</p>
<p class="p3">Predictably, on Halloween night they watch the movie <em>Halloween</em>. It transpires at Ben’s house on the television the Hanscoms’ had in their attic. The movie was not picked without a hitch, however—DVDs may have been thrown, families may have been cursed but no one fought Beverly when she placed the <em>Halloween</em> DVD in the player when the boys weren’t looking.</p>
<p class="p3">No one wanted to suggest to go trick-or-treating, they were much too old for it even though that was what they all secretly wanted to do anyway. Richie had seen the movie countless times already and hardly minded watching it another, but this also meant it was difficult to keep his mouth shut. Upon his seventh comment, Eddie finally breaks.</p>
<p class="p3">“Richie, shut up or I’m kicking you out,” Eddie says abruptly.</p>
<p class="p3">“<em>Jeez Louise</em>, I’m sorry,” Richie says, but his heart had jolted with fear at his words in a way the movie had never succeeded in doing.</p>
<p class="p3">“Richie,” Stan growls after a few minutes, the movie was down to it’s third victim. If Richie hadn’t already resorted to passive viewing, he’s sure he would’ve started reciting the lines by heart under his breath without even noticing. Eddie would’ve had his neck by then for sure.</p>
<p class="p3">“What’s up, Stan the man?” Richie says in response, scooting closer by bouncing with his beanbag. Bev looks up at them conversing. It’s wordless and not malicious but they get the message.</p>
<p class="p3">Stan tilts his head back toward the door, hinting at Richie to follow him. Richie complies and they end up in Ben’s hall, their socked feet padding lightly on the carpet. Eerily quite. The movie’s music and screaming is muffled by the doors and walls that now separate them.</p>
<p class="p3">“What is it now, Iced Tea?” The nickname brings back memories long forgotten and Stan winces but fails to comment. It’s a play on when the bullies used to pick on them as kids. Stan and Richie just a little too close for anyone’s taste or comfort. <em>Stanley Tozier</em>. Initials S.T. Iced Tea. A bit lazy on Richie’s part. He’s had brighter moments since, he admits. He was in third grade when the nickname was conceived so he supposed some slack was warranted though.</p>
<p class="p3">“I don’t get why you don’t just tell them,” Stanley says. He exhales through his nose and rubs at the bridge of it. For a second—just for a split second—Richie can see the ghost of the man Stan will become, and it fills him with such a huge bout of longing he forgets there’s even a question to answer in Stan’s words.</p>
<p class="p3">“It’s not up to me, Missus Tozier,” Richie’s feet kick at the carpet as he speaks, while mentally kicking himself as well. Maybe not a good time to drudge up the homophobic bullying they both received as kids, but he’s already dug his grave—might as well lie in it. “He’s the one that doesn’t want to tell them.”</p>
<p class="p3">There’s no clarification needed for who <em>he</em> is.</p>
<p class="p3">“He’s not the only one that this affects,” Stan says, “I know he’s mad at you now. But it’s your life too, Richie.”</p>
<p class="p3">“And what, Stanley?” Richie says, nails digging into his palms, “Out him too? Because fuck whatever he wants, right?”</p>
<p class="p3">“You wouldn’t have to out him.”</p>
<p class="p3">“It’d be hard to explain the Summer and leave out how Eddie partook in it.”</p>
<p class="p3">“Just spare them the details,” Stan says, “God, I wish you would’ve spared <em>me</em> the details.”</p>
<p class="p3">Richie rolls his eyes at that, “Me fucking too.” But then Stan throws him a look and they both let out breaths akin to laughter and the heat of the moment vanishes.</p>
<p class="p3">They slip back into the attic relatively soundlessly. Richie tiptoes back to his beanbag chair, dreading and watching Eddie’s brown head in the darkness haloed in the glow of the television—dreading and <em>wanting</em> him to turn around and give him a death glare. He doesn’t.</p>
<p class="p3">When Richie plops down Ben suddenly, perhaps to break the tension—poor, sweet Ben—or perhaps to dispel the glaze of boredom that had fallen over each of there eyes says, “Do you guys wanna go to the pool?”</p>
<p class="p3">The pool was a three-block walk away from Ben’s, just far enough to feign privacy but close enough that they didn’t feel unsafe. Eddie leaves with the excuse that it was getting too late and Sonia was sure to get worried—Richie’s sure that was some <em>version</em> of the truth, but the closer version was probably that Sonia had successfully drilled into Eddie’s head that pools were bacteria-ridden and deadly dangerous. He left so he wouldn’t haven’t to think up a reason as to why he <em>shouldn’t couldn’t wouldn’t</em> go into the pool. And they let him.</p>
<p class="p3">Some paranoid part of Richie though reminded him Eddie might have left because he couldn’t bare another moment in his presence. That part won out.</p>
<p class="p3">Mike had the bright idea they should go into the pool as they are, clothes and all. Richie’s grinning and running toward the edge before anyone can stop him. He sticks one foot in, and then the other, and the weight of his pant leg absorbing the pool water makes the trek that much more difficult. He keeps going until his head is submerged, his glasses floating to the surface.</p>
<p class="p3">“Richie!” He can hear Bill scream from above him, but they’re all swirls and shapes and inconsequential from under the blue wasteland. Nothing exists here underwater, just him alone and his blue thoughts.</p>
<p class="p3">Eventually, Richie emerges and he’s shivering.</p>
<p class="p3">“Y-you okay, Rich?” Bill says, wrapping Richie in a towel the rest of the way and facing him. His hands slip down and rub Richie’s arms for warmth in a gesture of affection so simple and uncomplicated Richie could almost weep. “Y-you s-s-scared me for a s-second there, buddy.”</p>
<p class="p3">“Sorry, Bill.”</p>
<p class="p3">“What happened during summer anyways, Rich?” Beverly says after some time has passed, when the chlorine has set into Richie’s skin he’s sure he’ll never get it out again. She was curled up in the pool chair and her toe prodded Richie’s leg coquettishly, but she sounds serious. “Why are you and Eddie being so secretive about it?”</p>
<p class="p3">“No secrets,” Richie says with a forced smile. But if Bev was facing Stan right now, the meaningful look he throws him would’ve given them all away.</p>
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